A Rainbow in the Desert

You know, it doesn’t really seem to matter how much rain we get in the spring. Mid-July still thrusts us right up under the glare of the sun, leaving us sticky, short of breath, and in desperate need of yet another cold shower. It was one of those days just recently, and I was walking down the gravel road by our house during the late afternoon. I was actually pretty excited, cause I looked west, and the sky was this thick gravy-blue color, the wind was blowing decently, and I thought - who knows? - maybe the rain will come. And it was about time it rained. I felt like I had been walking in the desert for way too long.

So, I watched the clouds in eager anticipation as I strolled down the road. Made it a quarter mile before it struck me. Sure, there was a sea of gray in the west, and another one in the northeast. I could even see shimmering curtains of rain cascading from the sky. But right straight overhead, all was unreachable and annoyingly dry. A cactus would have seemed right at home at that moment.

I gave God a glance that might have been termed a glare and headed for home in a less-than-contented mood. When things are thirsty, why withhold water? I mean, yeah, the corn was growing up strong and green. I walked past a weed in the ditch that was even taller than I was (I know, cause I stood face-to-face with it to compare). Things are looking brilliant here this summer. But I wanted rain. So, why did God paint empty skies overhead instead?

I made it back to the house without any sort of solution and turned the TV channel to a remarkable documentation on the characteristics of Antarctica’s Emperor penguins. I was willing enough to be distracted and found the little things fascinating besides. I am convinced that whoever thought up the three-piece black-and-white suit used penguins for models. As the show was coming to an end, I happened to glance out the window. This is what I saw:



It was like the sky was on fire. I dashed outside, not even bothering to turn the TV off, then dashed back in to grab my camera, and dashed out once more. Sprinted straight east to stare absolutely open-mouthed at this enormous masterpiece of a rainbow, then sprinted west to witness the dying fire of a gorgeous sunset. Even if I was doubled over and wheezing from all that sprinting.

And then it hit me . . . If I had had my way, if God had sent the rain I had wanted Him to send - the rain that would have drenched my little corner of the world and blanketed the sky in clouds - well, then all I would have seen of the sky that evening would have been gray and blue. With the clouds so thick, I’d never have seen the world on fire. I’d never have seen the sun pierce out through the clouds exactly where and when it did to paint that magnificent rainbow. Oh, so He knows what He's doing after all. So, whether you’re walking through a desert or up along some mountain’s side or in a shadowed valley, God knows best how to paint the sky. Because of this, always we can praise Him.